


Call Me Devil

by blackholebabey



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Raphael!Crowley, falling from grace, questioning God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 16:13:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19467520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackholebabey/pseuds/blackholebabey
Summary: It wasn’t a lie that all he’d ever done was ask questions. It wasn’t a lie he’d fallen in with the wrong crowd. The lie was that such simple things could cause an angel to Fall. God didn’t care about such minor infractions. After all, Michael and Gabriel and Aziraphale hadn’t Fallen despite keeping far worse company than Crowley had. No, only the worst of the worst Fell.





	Call Me Devil

**Author's Note:**

> i don't own any of these characters or whatever the fuck

Crowley didn’t Fall from Grace, nor did he Saunter Vaguely Downwards—not that he’d ever admit that to anyone. It was a matter of pride, claiming that his departure from Heaven was more rebellious than what had actually happened. What would everyone think of him they knew the truth? And so, Crowley lied.

It wasn’t a lie that all he’d ever done was ask questions. It wasn’t a lie he’d fallen in with the wrong crowd. The lie was that such simple things could cause an angel to Fall. God didn’t care about such minor infractions. After all, Michael and Gabriel and Aziraphale hadn’t Fallen despite keeping far worse company than Crowley had. No, only the worst of the worst Fell.

Crowley was not the worst of the worst.

He still remembered the first time he’d questioned God. He remembered his rage and confusion and bitter tears, and he remembered Her indifference. It is all part of the plan, Raphael, She had told him. And when the time of suffering comes, they will need you.

But why must they suffer?

He had pleaded with Her to change Her plans. He had pleaded and begged and screamed until his throat was raw. Why should they suffer? Why should suffering even exist? Why make them suffer if only to heal them? How is that Good and Merciful?

Silence.

Did you only make me so that I would clean up your messes? 

She didn’t answer him. She never did.

Raphael didn’t Fall from Grace, nor did he Saunter Vaguely Downwards—but a part of him wished he had. It was a matter of principle, refusing to be a part of something that would cause so much pain, even if his only role was to ease the suffering. How would he live with himself if followed Her Plan? And so, Raphael ran away.

*****

He ended up in Hell, though not via the traditional route. Technically, he was still an angel, even if he had run from Heaven. No matter where Raphael went, he could feel Her presence. He wanted it to stop. He needed it to stop. And he could think of only one place in all the universe where She wouldn’t dare follow him.

“Why have you come here? You haven’t Fallen,” Lucifer said when Raphael came knocking on Hell’s doors. There was acid in his voice, cruel and mocking, like he couldn’t stand the sight of an angel in his new, dark domain.

Raphael could hardly recognize his brother. The beautiful Moringstar he once was had all but gone, leaving nothing but a monster in its place. It pained him to see his Lucifer like this, and it hurt all the more to know She had done this to him.

“No, I haven’t,” Raphael admitted, heart racing and hands shaking. “But I want to.”

Lucifer frowned. “That choice isn’t for you or I to make. Only She decides who Falls.”

Rage ignited within Raphael, more tempestuous and temperamental than the worst storms that hadn’t yet been created. “What do you mean ‘only She decides who Falls’?” he snarled. “I thought you were supposed to go against Her Plan! That’s the whole reason why I came here! If you can’t help me Fall, then… then what’s the point of you?”

“This isn’t about following Her Plan,” Lucifer explained, his expression almost sympathetic despite the twisted, horrid features he now wore. “You don’t belong here, my brother. You’re too kind. Hell will destroy you.”

“Her Plan will destroy me!”

It was only then that Raphael realized he was crying. He hadn’t even known he could, hadn’t known that anyone could. But the hot, salty tears streaming down his face burned like hellfire. Crying. Tears. Words without meaning until this very moment. These, no small part of him realized, were the first tears ever shed.

How many others would cry and shed tears because of Her plan?

If Lucifer understood the weight of what had just happened, he was gracious enough to ignore it. “I cannot make you Fall,” he told his brother. “But I will not deny you a place here either. Come forth, and I shall damn you.”

Raphael stepped forward.

*****

Lucifer was right. Crowley wasn’t meant to be a demon. He didn’t have it in him to cause the kind of chaos and suffering such a title demanded. Even his stunt in the Garden of Eden hadn’t been as he’d intended. He just wanted Adam and Eve to have knowledge. What was so bad about understanding Good and Evil? Why did they have to suffer for it? Crowley never committed another evil act after that.

He experimented with trickery and wiles, but even that didn’t come to him naturally, not at first. It was good enough. It had to be. He couldn’t stomach causing anything more than an inconvenience. This whole thing went against his nature.

On those rare occasions where no one was watching — not Heaven or Hell or even God Herself — Crowley would heal the humans. It started off small, just a few broken bones mended and illnesses cured. Nothing too big. Nothing that that would draw attention to himself. And if anyone from his side ever did happen to notice, they knew better than to mention it.

Aziraphale had caught him in the act once. There had been a little girl of barely six who was dying of smallpox, and Crowley couldn’t not heal her. Humans hadn’t figured vaccines yet, nor had they figured out how to treat viruses. And she was just so young and so sick. He couldn’t let her die. With a wave of his hand, he cured the girl—only to see Aziraphale looking on with a startled look on his face. Mercifully, he said nothing.

There little miracles were enough at first. He could rest a little easier knowing that someone out there was alive and without suffering because of him. He could feel like himself when he healed them. He could feel whole. But the illnesses got worse and worse and the next thing he knew, he was drowning in a pile of plague infected bodies that seemed to mock him for his inability to save them all.

Did you only make me so that I would clean up your messes? He called out to Her for a second time during the height of the black death. I thought you were supposed to be merciful! 

The only answer was Her silence.

*****

It was startling, the first time he saw the hospital. It wasn’t the hospital itself that startled him, of course. The idea of hospitals were far from new to Crowley, although he would rather die than admit to his role in their creation. No, the part that had caught Crowley off guard was the name.

The Hospital of Saint Raphael. It felt like a slap in the face, like some cruel joke She was playing on him. Wasn’t it enough for Her that She had driven him away? Did She have to mock him like this as well? Put his name on a hospital of all things? Remind him of what She wanted him to be, what he was supposed to be? 

“Are you alright, dear boy?”

Crowley was so caught up in his anger that he’d only barely noticed Aziraphale’s voice. He had all but forgotten his friend was with him, too focused on that damned hospital with its cursed name. 

“Sorry, what did you say?” Crowley asked, still unable to tear his eyes from the Hospital of Saint Raphael.

“I asked if you were alright,” Aziraphale said, voice tinged with worry. “Is something the matter, Crowley? You seem a bit… preoccupied.”

“Oh, nothing. I’m fine,” Crowley lied. “Just didn’t know that was the name of a saint is all. Thought he was one of yours actually.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide with surprise, and Crowley couldn’t help but worry he’d said the wrong thing. “Archangel Raphael and Saint Raphael are one in the same,” Aziraphale explained. “The humans bestowed that title upon him during the black death.”

The black death? Crowley wanted to say that what Aziraphale said couldn’t be possible. There was no Archangel Raphael, not anymore. He had been long gone millennia before the black death had even made its way to Earth. And what was left of Heaven’s precious healer was hardly worth the title of saint. Not Fallen like the others, but Damned nonetheless.

“Humans can do that?” was what he ended up saying instead.

Aziraphale shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Besides, it makes sense that the universe’s first healer be their patron saint of medicine.” As if an afterthought, he added: “Such a shame that he left Heaven so early on. I think I would have liked to meet the fellow.”

If Crowley had a heart, it would have stopped. Left? They were still saying he’d simply left Heaven? After all this time, had no one truly noticed that the Archangel Raphael had Fallen? That his angelic grace could no longer be felt? Or was it simply easier for the Host to lie to themselves and pretend Raphael was still out there somewhere?

“Left?” Crowley asked, hoping he didn’t sound too invested in getting an answer. “How do you mean he left?”

“Oh, well I don’t know the specifics, but from what I understand he just up and left one day after speaking with Her. Quite abruptly too, from what I understand.” Aziraphale sighed. “No one’s seen him since then, but judging from the state of things here on Earth I can certainly see why.”

“You can?”

For the first time millennia, Crowley was hopeful that he might finally be understood. No one had in Heaven, and he had never given anyone the chance to do so in Hell. But Aziraphale had always been different. He’d been so distraught over Adam and Eve being kicked out of the garden of Eden, that he’d given Eve his sword for Someone’s sake! If anyone could understand how hard it was to go along with a plan that allowed for so much pain and suffering, it would be him.

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale replied easily. “With all the suffering going on here, I imagine his work will never be done. He’ll be on Earth trying to ease human suffering until the end days, I’m sure.”

Crowley deflated. Aziraphale didn’t understand after all. 

“Angel, with all this suffering, what makes you think he’s even here?”

Aziraphale gave him a quizzical look. “Well, of course he’s here. Why else would the humans put his name on their hospitals?”

“Why, indeed.”

*****

Crowley was defective, as far as demons went. He was too kind. He was too curious. Suffering still made him sick to his stomach. And worst of all, he could still feel things like grace and love even when he knew he shouldn’t. He was broken. His “Fall” had gone wrong. He was sure of it.

Then again, he hadn’t fared any better as an angel. He had been too kind and too curious back then as well, too disturbed by the warlike tendencies of his brothers and too soft to allow anyone to hurt. Even among the so-called Good and Gracious angels of Heaven, Crowley’s dedication to healing others had been viewed as an oddity.

Where did healing fit in this so-called Ineffable Plan?

In all his years, Crowley had never met another being who had been made for the sake of being a healer. No angels. No demons. Some of the humans came close, but it wasn’t their purpose. It wasn’t their design. It was just something they knew was needed. It was just something they knew was the right thing to do, even with their free will.

Why make them suffer?

It didn’t feel Good to let them suffer, nor did it feel Merciful. It felt Bad and Evil and like all the things the angels claimed demons would do. Yet Crowley had never known a demon to bring about suffering the way God did. Only She could make the whole world hurt like this without question, without retribution.

Was this his punishment, all this widespread suffering? Crowley sometimes felt like it was. Maybe if he had stayed, She would have changed her mind. Maybe if he had stayed, other angels would have cared less about their war and more about healing. 

Oh, who was he kidding? God didn’t care enough about him to orchestrate all of this out spite.

Why make me suffer?

Silence.

Why not let me Fall?

Crowley was defective. God had made sure of it. No longer an angel. Not quite a demon. Crowley didn’t have a side. He didn’t belong anywhere.

*****

The Apocalypse had been averted, all thanks to a certain moody Antichrist who had absolutely no interest in listening to his father. In the end, the boy hadn’t needed Crowley’s demonic wiles or Aziraphale’s angelic miracles in order to become the version of himself that the world needed. He just had to be himself. He just had to be Adam.

Crowley could relate to Adam in that regard, not that he’d ever admit it. Adam had figured out in just a few short months what Crowley had been struggling toward for six thousand years: a way to reconcile two opposing identities into one being. While Adam was both a human boy and the Anticrhist, Crowley was still a bit angel and a bit demon. Adam had been brave enough to choose his name over his title and mean it. Crowley was finally strong enough to do the same.

Archangel. Raphael. Demon. Crawly. Crowley. Anthony J. Crowley. Over the years, he had kept choosing names and titles as if they would be the answer to his problems, as if putting more and more distance between his newest iteration and Raphael would somehow fix everything. It never worked. How could it? How could anything ever really change as long as he was playing by someone else’s rules?

He was free now.

He was whole now.

The days of demons and angels and sides and wars were all behind him. He wasn’t answering to God. He wasn’t answering to Satan. He wasn’t a healer or an angel or a demon or whatever anyone else demanded of him. He wasn’t anything except himself. 

Anthony J. Crowley didn’t Fall from Grace, nor did he Saunter Vaguely Downwards—he hadn’t needed to. It was a matter of defying destiny, forging his own path regardless of the consequences. How else would he have found somewhere that he belonged? And so, Crowley turned to the angel beside him.

“To the world,” he said, raising his glass.

Aziraphale’s face lit up with an expression so tender that Crowley thought his heart might burst from the mere sight of it. “To the world.”


End file.
